Traitor to the Gods

a 'Saturday' morning poem—a few days early.

Prometheus; José Orozco, 1930; Frary Dining Hall at Pomona College

And there it was, clear as day. As clearly as the sun shines through my windows in the morning, illuminating the cliché  I found myself in, around, and behind myself—beside myself with a grin.

The lines, the threads, the winds and the rain make for the same path over and over again. It is not the matrix of it all, it is simply just now...transparent. 

I can see it. 

And I can see you. 

You're going to have to kill me, my love. 

Note:

We mourn the losses of so many near and from afar. Live and televised. Ignored or buried. It would behoove one to use the voice we have spent our entire lives creating, thus far.

From each river, to every sea.

From mountain town,

to coastal lane

keep your eyes fixed on the weather vane.